


Hour of the Wolf

by NorthRemembers7



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-01-22 04:24:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12473424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthRemembers7/pseuds/NorthRemembers7
Summary: Picking up after the Season 8 finale, imagining how events might unfold when Daenerys and company arrive in Winterfell. Told from the perspectives of Tyrion and Sansa, and focused on their relationship.





	1. Sansa I

**SANSA:**

 

“Aegon Targaryan”

“True born son”

“A stronger claim than any of them”

 

Winterfell was buzzing with talk of Bran’s revelation. His announcement upon Jon’s arrival, confirmed by Sam’s knowledge from the citadel, had thrown the castle into a flurry of rumor and speculation. Smallfolk and nobles alike whispered amongst themselves, wondering what would happen next.

 

For his part, Jon had become withdrawn, he seemed troubled by this new knowledge. Sansa often found him in the crypts, keeping watch over her aunt’s tomb. His mother…

 

How strange it must be for him, to find that she had been here all along, her bones resting beneath them, watching over her son.

 

But Sansa knew he could not go on like this. It was rather like Jon to brood in this way, shutting himself away from the rest of them, guarding his innermost thoughts. But it had to end, they needed him, she needed him.

 

The northern lords grew restless in the absence of their king’s leadership. She had managed them well enough in his absence; she could handle a few gruff Mormonts and Umbers after all. But they expected their chosen king to take up his post again when he returned to Winterfell. His newfound connection to their beloved, and long gone, Lyanna only added to their expectations. Her brother’s effective abdication of all responsibility threatened the tenuous peace she had so carefully brokered amongst the northerners. She was Ned Stark’s daughter to be sure, and they respected her to a point, but their choice was clear. Jon was the king they wanted. As well as she had performed her duties as Lady of Winterfell, and as much as they had loved her father, they had never fully accepted her. Without her brother, as she still thought of him privately, they were wont to fall into the squabbling and power struggles that had weakened the North and allowed the Greyjoys and then the Boltons to steal away her home and her family.

 

These thoughts weighed heavily on her, and she often sought out the solace of the godswood. She didn’t pray as she had when she was younger, but the quiet grove was the best place to mull over her thoughts, and it was where she felt closest to those that were lost. The weirwood was said to hold the memory of all the old Starks, and she liked to think a part of her mother, her father, her lost brothers, and all the others watched over her there. Her thoughts there were not the innocent, hopeful devotions of her youth, but she supposed it was a kind of prayer nonetheless.

 

Lost in these musings, she didn’t notice him coming up the path from the castle until he reached the entrance to the grove, where he stopped short, seeming suddenly unsure of himself.

 

“Lord Tyrion”

 

“Lady Sansa”

 

It wasn’t the first time she had seen him since the arrival of the Dragon Queen and her army, but the times before had always been in a crowd, when she had others to distract her and demand her attention, so they had exchanged only the requisite pleasantries. Now she was faced with him alone, and she found herself unsure of what to say.

 

_What do you say to your onetime husband, or had he been a jailer? No, that was unfair, he hadn’t been a jailer, but his father was. The man he killed. She would have liked to hear that story, but there was no delicate way to bring it up. Besides, that was dangerous territory. He may very well be angry about her abandonment in the wake of Joffrey’s murder. She hadn’t fully comprehended the deadly trap she left him in until she was not so safely hidden away in the Eyrie. It had been all Littlefinger’s doing of course, but she felt a twinge of regret for the role she unknowingly played in framing him. He was lucky to make it out of Cersei’s clutches alive. They both were._

 

“I thought I might find you here, I recalled your old fondness for the godswood in King’s Landing, although the weirwood here puts all others to shame, it must be as tall as the castle itself”

 

His statement pulled her from her reverie on jailers and deadly traps.

 

“I often come here, it is where I feel most like a Northerner”

 

“Ah, yes of course, and you look every bit the Lady of Winterfell sitting here in the snow, I’d prefer four walls and a roaring fire myself, but you Northerners are hardier than the rest of us”

 

She regarded him silently; she would let him say his peace before she offered any response. She found it was best to listen, gathering information and working out hidden motives before she entered the fray of conversation.

 

He launched abruptly into what she could only assume was a well-rehearsed speech.

 

“I’m afraid I have had little chance to speak with you since I arrived my lady, but I hope our rather, shall I say, complicated past will not keep us from working together as allies. You are your cousin’s most trusted advisor, and we will all need to work together in the days to come, if we wish to survive”

 

“He’s my brother”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Jon. He’s still my brother, I still think of him that way, I mean.”

 

He paused and considered her words.

 

“Yes, of course my lady. Your were raised together, you have the shared pasts of a brother and sister.”

 

She looked into his mismatched eyes for the first time since he had begun speaking, trying to discern his thoughts, pondering her next move, was he friend or foe?

 

_He met her gaze with what looked like sincerity, perhaps he will be an ally, but she still can’t say what he really wants. People always want something from her, grasping for her beauty or her family claim, her influence over Jon or her hand in northern politics. But Tyrion had seemed different to her at times. He was more earnest perhaps, or if not that, simply kinder than most people she had known. He could play the game of lies and secrets skillfully, but he had a soft spot for broken things. He was always kind to her in King’s Landing, she knew her fate could have been far worse without his protection, flimsy as it had been in the face of Joffrey’s cruelty and Cersei’s spitefulness…But there were more pressing matters at hand, it would not do to dwell on the past, she had to keep her mind fixed on the present. Survival is all she thinks of now, and she is not a broken thing._

 

She breaks her silence and addresses Tyrion, turning the conversation back to Jon.

 

“He listens little to my counsel these days I’m afraid. I told him not to go to Dragonstone at all. He hasn’t done himself any favors with the northerners you know, bending the knee to your queen. They don’t trust southerners, not after everything that’s happened”

 

“It’s true my lady, the North has reason to be angry, but I’m sure Jon believes, and I must say I agree, that a united front is the best hope we have of defeating the dead, and my ice queen of a sister if it comes to that”

 

“Perhaps you are right Lord Tyrion, I know Jon thinks of nothing but defeating the Night King, I’m sure he is glad of Daenerys’ army. I feel safer myself thinking of two dragons between myself and Cersei”

 

He grinned ever so slightly at her last remark. If there was anything that could bring them together it was a shared bitterness against his sister.

 

“Yes my lady, I find I sleep a little sounder knowing there are two dragons, a horde of Dothraki screamers, and a whole host of Unsullied between myself and my dear sister”

 

They sat in silence for some time after that, and Sansa found it was strangely peaceful to sit quietly under the weirwood with Tyrion Lannister.


	2. Tyrion I

TYRION:

Tyrion was glad to have finally broken the silence between himself and Sansa. He suspected they would need to be the cooler heads to counsel their respective queen and king. And besides that, he found it was not unpleasant to sit there next to her, though they had both fallen silent and retreated back into their own private thoughts.

She was so beautiful; it was often difficult to think of anything else when he looked at her. He couldn’t help but admire her long auburn hair, the Tully blue eyes, her exquisitely long neck and perfectly formed features. But he knew it would be a mistake to be blinded by her beauty. She was a clever and resilient girl when he knew her years ago. Time and experience had honed her into a formidable woman; behind her blue eyes he imagined her mind was as sharp as a blade. He was sure she was busy working out his motivations, whether he was a threat and how to neutralize him. Not to mention Daenerys, the Queen who rode north to save Winterfell; or to invade it, depending on your perspective, he mused.

Eventually, Tyrion stood and bade Sansa goodbye, leaving her in the godswood and trudging back through the snow to the castle, he wasn’t sure how she could stand to sit out in the cold for so long, he had already begun to lose feeling in some of his fingers and toes.

***

When he is warm again in his chambers, Tyrion finds his thoughts drifting back to her. He feels terrible sorrow for how she has suffered, he was a terrible protector for her, but he is glad to see her shed the vestiges of victimhood here in Winterfell among her remaining family.

If anyone deserves to be reunited with their home and family he is sure it is Sansa Stark.


	3. Sansa II

Sansa descended the stairs of the crypt, she was sure she would find Jon by Lyanna’s tomb, and as she reached the end of the long hallway, she saw him there. For a moment, she stood by his side without speaking, watching the torchlight flicker across the carved stone face of her aunt.

 

Finally, she broke the silence.

 

“We need you with us Jon. The living need you.”

 

He looked at her sadly.

 

“Ever since Bran told me, I’ve felt a constant pull drawing me down here Sansa. She’s my mother; I just want to be near her. And I’m sure you can manage the demands of a few lords and ladies, you don’t need me beside you all the time.”

 

How could she draw him back? She had to make him understand how much he was needed.

 

“Jon, all I’ve been doing is managing, the lords and ladies grow restless without your presence, and they want you…not me”

 

“Sansa, you’re the Lady of Winterfell, you’re Ned Starks daughter, what can they want with me that you can’t give them?”

 

“They don’t see me that way Jon, they don’t say it out loud but I know what they’re thinking. I’m too much a lady, not enough a warrior, I was too long in King’s Landing and became too southern in their eyes, I have too much of the Tully looks and I’m too many times married for their liking. They don’t trust me, they don’t love me like they do you Jon.”

 

He’s looking at her sadly now. “Sansa, how can that be true, you won back Winterfell for them, you’ve watched over it so well while I was away, they must see that.”

 

“I won back Winterfell with an army from the Vale, and I was only meant to rule Winterfell until you came back Jon. You’re back, now they want you to be their king again.”

 

“Just leave me down here a little while longer Sansa, I’ll come back, I promise. I just need a little while longer.”

 

She leaves him then, hoping that he heard her this time. She needs her brother back.


	4. Tyrion II

**TYRION** :

 

Tyrion settled himself into a seat in Winterfell’s makeshift small council chamber. After the double sack of the castle by the Greyjoys and the Boltons there were still many rooms that had not been restored to their former state, and this one was rather bare, just a rough table and cursedly uncomfortable chairs. Although, he thought wryly, there wasn’t much to restore, Winterfell had been furnished according to Spartan northern tastes, not the southern lavishness he grew up in. He watched the other lords and ladies file in and find their own seats. Daenerys took the head chair, to his left. Varys, Missandei, and Grey Worm were seated near her as well. He glanced to the other end of the table, where he saw Sansa. It had been nearly a week since their conversation in the godswood, and he had noticed the active role she took in managing the bloc of northern noble houses. She was flanked by her sister Arya and the lady Lyanna Mormont. A handful of other northern lords made up the rest of the party, he really couldn’t keep them straight with their grim weatherworn faces and dull grey furs all looking so alike. The giant woman, Brienne of Tarth, was lurking in the back of the room, a watchful eye always on Sansa, he was glad for her to have such a fearsome protector in these dangerous times.

 

Just as the group had quieted and prepared to start discussion, the door burst open and Ser Davos strode in, followed by Jon Snow and the wildling called Giantsbane. The energy in the room shifted noticeably, all eyes were on Jon, and he seemed unsure of what to do next.

 

In a smooth motion, Sansa rose from her seat and gestured to Lyanna Mormont, who turned and indicated something to the lords seated next to her. They all moved down the table, displacing one, a Cerwyn perhaps, so that he rose to stand behind them. Jon found himself seated at the end of the table, a Stark sister at both sides, and Ser Davos standing behind him. The assembled lords and ladies seemed to shift nervously, unsure of whether Jon or Daenerys was their leader now, Tyrion noted their nervous expressions with mild amusement.

 

“Well then, it seems we are all here, let us begin.” Tyrion was the first to speak, breaking the expectant silence.

 

From there, the assembled councils of Targaryean and Stark wrestled with the problems of posting a large army in and around the castle, the shortage of supplies needed to survive the winter, and the warning Bran had given them about an impending breach of the Wall.

 

Many of the northerners could not believe the Wall would ever fail, but Bran’s visions had always proven true, and Tyrion argued for them to make the armies ready in case of an imminent attack. To his surprise, he found an ally in Sansa, who made an impassioned argument to the skeptical northerners to do all they could to protect their homeland, though he could not tell whether they were convinced.

 

It seemed as though the only thing they did not discuss, was Jon’s newly revealed heritage. Daenerys’ advisors were loath to broach the topic; she had been short with them when it came up before. The northerners seemed similarly unsure of what to say, though in their case Jon’s utter lack of comment on the matter was what left them so uncertain of how to react.

 

Tyrion planned to leave the subject untouched, for now. It would need resolution eventually, but this crowded room was not the time or the place.


	5. Sansa III

Sansa’s desk was nestled tightly into a corner of her bedroom. Winterfell was stretched to bursting since Jon and Daenerys arrived over a month ago. There was simply no room for her to have a separate study while accommodating guests from every corner of Westeros and beyond. It meant she never really escaped from the work of running Winterfell. There was nowhere outside her chambers where she would not be engaged by some noble or general with discussions of supplies, armies, and alliances. Yet back in her bedroom, she was confronted with the ever-growing stack of correspondence from throughout the seven kingdoms, and the mounting requests for supplies coming from the armies that had gathered around Winterfell. She didn’t blame their commanders for their increasing demands, an army needed to eat, shelter, and stay warm in the winter snows, but she was beginning to grow desperate, Winterfell’s stores were sadly depleted already. She inwardly cursed the Bolton’s for their negligence in preparing the castle for winter. Even wiped from the face of the earth, that cursed family and their evil machinations were coming back to haunt her. She might be safe in these walls for now, but if the Others didn’t kill her, she’d certainly starve to death before spring, along with everyone gathered at Winterfell.

 

These practical matters kept her thoughts from the pile of scrolls, carried by ravens from other far-off castles, but she had to attend to those as well. Now that House Stark was allied with Daenerys and her dragons, she was inundated by correspondence from southern lords. Most had backed Joffrey, and then Cersei, for years, but they saw how she was unraveling and fled like rats from a sinking ship. Sansa was faintly disgusted by their spinelessness, they had stood by Joffrey and Cersei while they committed one atrocity after another, and left only when they sensed her power fading. Still, winter was no time to turn down help. They would never reach Winterfell with their armies or supplies in time to fight the Others, but perhaps they could turn their combined might against Cersei in due time. Of course, many of the letters were directed to Jon in his newly granted role of Warden of the North, but Sansa still found it easier to manage most of these things on her own. It was exhausting work alone, and the responsibility weighed heavily on her, but it was simpler than dragging Jon into her chambers and standing over him while he made slow progress through what he saw as mundane scribbling. She was glad that at least he wasn’t sequestered in the crypts at all hours. Lately he had been visiting the dragons, building a bond with Rhaegal, whom Daenerys wanted him to ride. His time spent with the dragons was of no use to her, but his deft management of them impressed the other lords and their soldiers, so Sansa didn’t mind. At least they thought he was doing something useful.

 

At that moment, Brienne opened the door and announced Lady Lyanna Mormont, who strode in confidently. Lyanna was a constant thorn in Sansa’s side, prone to stubborn argument with her, but she was also one of the few people Sansa trusted at the moment. Lady Mormont was never been anything but honest, no matter how much she frustrated Sansa. Still, Sansa steeled herself for another difficult exchange; nothing was ever easy with Lyanna.

 

“Lady Sansa, I am happy to be granted an audience. I wasn’t aware that the Stark family often posted armed knights outside their doors while home in Winterfell.”

 

The biting tone was not lost on Sansa, though she couldn’t remember Lyanna ever speaking to her any differently. The Mormonts were a proud people, and the young woman was likely offended at finding a Valyrian steel sword between herself and an audience with her liege lady.

 

“Lady Lyanna, you are always welcome in my rooms, I assure you I hold my northern bannermen in the highest regard. But you must admit, there are more southerners and strangers from beyond Westeros than Winterfell has ever hosted. I would be foolish to trust them all as I do loyal northerners. Please, tell me why you have come.”

 

Lyanna paused for a moment, drawing her lips into a thin line, but made no other response to Sansa’s explanation.

 

“There is not enough food to keep a large army at Winterfell. I know it, you know it, and yet we keep up this farce. If it goes on much longer the situation will be truly dire. By my estimations, there is no more than two months of supplies. I see no option but to withdraw the Mormont forces back to Bear Island. We have enough in our cellars there to keep ourselves fed through the winter, and there will be no southerners leeching off our provisions.”

 

Sansa was not surprised; she knew there was a growing dissatisfaction amongst her army. It was true that their supplies were disappearing at an alarming rate. But she needed every northern house to stand with her. It was imperative that she keep them loyal to her.

 

“My lady, please, you know we need every sword we can get to fight against the Others. I am working daily to increase our food supplies. Give me one more month before you leave us, I will find a solution.”

 

“And tell me Lady Sansa, what will be different in one month? Will bread fall from the sky instead of snow? Will Daenerys’ army be any less hungry? Will House Stark put the needs of northerners above their new southern friends?”

 

Lyanna was testing her patience now. Sansa needed absolute loyalty, if one house left, surely all the others would follow.

 

“House Stark has stood for the North for a thousand years Lady Mormont. We stand for the North today and we will still stand for the North another thousand years from now. You know as well as I do that without these southerners, we have no chance against the Others. Stark, Mormont, and every other house northern or southern will be dead and gone. Let me remind you my lady, I am the Stark in Winterfell, and House Stark has called its bannermen. If House Mormont is still loyal to the North, you will stay here until I command you to leave, and not before.”

 

A tense silence fell between them. Sansa had challenged the one thing Lyanna held dear above all others, honor. If Sansa’s invocation of northern loyalty did not convince her to stay, nothing would keep her in Winterfell. Sansa had seen her eyebrows rise, almost imperceptibly, if you hadn’t been taught to read a person as closely as Petyr Baelish, when Sansa called herself a Stark. She knew Lyanna was still deeply suspicious of her loyalty to the North. But Sansa could not take back her old marriages, and few people would ever understand how she had fought to survive and to keep her family name alive. She would have to rely on the intense northern loyalty to the Starks to keep her army held together, and hope that would be enough.

 

“Very well, Lady _Stark_. I will give you one month to show me you can keep my people from starving. But do not think I will wait forever. There will be no one to fight the others if we starve first.”

 

With that, Lyanna turned and strode from the room. Leaving Sansa to wonder how she would ever keep her alliances together. Resting her forehead in her palms, Sansa tried to ignore the voice in her head that told her the answer. No, she didn’t want to turn to anyone else for help, if she could just work a little bit harder, be a little bit cleverer, she could do it by herself.

 

 


	6. Tyrion III

Tyrion was in Dany’s room, having the same conversation they seemed to have at least once a week, if not more often. Food was running low, it was as cold as death in the North, the northern lords were distrustful of them, and the banks of snow around Winterfell grew taller by the day. The Others were coming, but they didn’t know when, and the longer they waited the more restless the Dothraki grew. Under the surface, unspoken, was another conversation, one they both avoided studiously. He had only broached the subject of her claim once since Jon’s true identity was revealed. Dany’s reaction had made him wary to bring it up again. He reasoned that they could resolve the matter later, what was the point in the face of a battle for the literal fate of humanity. It was an excuse, he knew, but he told himself that it was a rather good one. Maybe he would be dead soon and all his problems would be over. He was just tired; all he wanted was some peace. Tyrion noted that Dany was looking rather tired herself. She was pale with dark circles under her eyes, and she complained that the northern food didn’t agree with her, it made her sick to think about eating it for gods only knew how many more months while they waited here. He wasn’t terribly fond of it himself, but he was more concerned about the quantity in the cellars than the meals themselves. If they couldn’t keep their people warm and well fed they wouldn’t last much longer here.

 

When he finally left Dany, Tyrion felt no closer to solving their problems than he had before their meeting. It was frustrating, he wanted to be a good Hand for her, but he had few resources here in the North to even begin tackling their issues with. The Lannister name was hated here, snowdrifts hemmed them in, and their army was ill suited to the winter climate. Walking slowly back to his room, Tyrion knew it was time to put his best skills to use; he needed to forge an alliance. He turned on his heel and began the long walk into the heart of the Great Keep where he knew Sansa’s room lay. It was clear to him that she was the one keeping the northern alliance together, and he needed her help to keep his own southerners united as well.

 

As Tyrion drew closer to her room, a knot began to form in his stomach and his throat grew dry. He hated asking for help, being in the position of weakness. And he wasn’t sure that Sansa would even want to help him, even after he had approached her in the godswood weeks ago she had maintained her icy demeanor, quiet and aloof. But he had tried to keep Dany’s armies alive and placated on his own, and he had to admit that he was failing. He would swallow his pride and try to reach out to her again.

 

Reaching the door of her chambers, Tyrion found himself staring up at Brienne of Tarth. She made even tall men feel like dwarves, and standing before her he felt even smaller than usual. Nevermind though, he told himself, it’s not the first or the last time you’ll feel so small.

 

“Lady Brienne, I must beg an audience with Lady Sansa, will you let me pass?”


	7. Sansa IV

Sansa had scarcely begun to gather her thoughts after Lady Lyanna’s departure, when she heard voices outside her door. She groaned inwardly, wondering who would come through it next. The wildlings kept mostly to themselves, rarely bothering her, but the northern lords and ladies kept up a constant stream of requests. They all wanted food, better accommodations in the main keep or in Winter town, and her attention and favor most of all. Whether they liked it or not, she still held the reins of power in the castle while Jon whiled his days away with Daenerys and the dragons. She heard he had begun to ride Rhaegal; it must be a sight to see, but she hadn’t had time lately for anything but work. In fact, she realized she had hardly been outside for weeks, and the thought of fresh air and soft snow made her wistful for the days when she had walked the grounds daily, visiting the godswood and Winter town.

 

As these thoughts passed through her mind, Brienne swung the door open, and Tyrion Lannister entered, a guarded expression on his face. Sansa felt herself flush, she had been avoiding him since their last meeting in the Godswood and here he was to confront her. She knew it was unladylike to give one’s guests the cold shoulder, but she was afraid to let him get too close to her.

 

_Here I am struggling to feed my own people, the northern coalition falling apart around me, and no idea of how to fix any of it. Meanwhile, Tyrion has already been hand to two rulers. He’s been all over the seven kingdoms and now he’s traveled all the way to Essos and back. If he finds out I can’t even keep the North safe and united, he’ll think I’m still a stupid little girl. He’ll tell Daenerys and she’ll tell Jon and everyone will know I’m failing…_

Sansa forced the desperate thoughts overtaking her mind to cease for the moment. She had to present a strong front, she had to maintain control and stay two steps ahead or she would lose this game. There was no reason to let Tyrion know the full depths of her problems; it was none of his business. He probably didn’t care about the northmen’s problems anyway. She did her best to hold a calm expression on her face, and finally met his eyes with hers.

 

“Lord Tyrion, how unexpected, may I be of service to you?”

 

 

He shifted on his feet and paused for a moment before speaking.

 

“Lady Sansa, I hope I do not disturb you, there are some matters I would like to discuss…if you have a moment to spare?”

 

He looked at her questioningly. She paused, trying to detect some hint of ulterior purpose in his eyes or posture. Seeing none, she stood and gestured toward the chairs arranged on the other side of her desk. She would play the part of a gracious lady; she could do that well enough until she found out what he wanted from her.

 

“Of course, please come in and be seated my lord.”

 

As he chose a chair and seated himself across from her, she thought for a moment that he looked almost sheepish, though she couldn’t imagine why.

“Lady Sansa, I have been most impressed by your stewardship of Winterfell and the northern alliances. I thought we might…”

 

He paused again, looking increasingly uncomfortable.

 

“Well, I suppose I thought _you_ might be of some help to me. If I can be perfectly candid, the southern forces are not so unified in purpose as the North, and we find ourselves struggling to adapt to the northern climate.”

 

He had blurted the words out so quickly, she was sure they must have been rehearsed several times. She had never seen him so _nervous_. In King’s Landing, Sansa had always thought of Tyrion as clever and in control. Even when he drank himself into a stupor he could maintain his dry wit. She had never seen cracks appear in his façade the way she did now.

 

“What I mean is that we, and _I_ as hand to the queen, need to reinforce our alliances with House Stark if we mean to survive here and keep our armies intact in the coming months.”

 

Sansa was stunned. He was asking _her_ for help? How could he not see that she barely had her own head above the water just managing her own problems? She couldn’t begin to imagine what she could do about his. This was not the conversation she had anticipated, and she was slow to reply.

 

Finally, she managed to respond. “Lord Tyrion, I’m flattered that you think me a worthy ally. Of course House Stark is a loyal supporter of Queen Daenerys, but I’m sure you know supplies are stretched rather thin at the moment, I may not have much more help to offer.”

 

“Yes, they are stretched rather thin. I’m afraid that is only the beginning of our problems. Our men are complaining of the cold and the meager rations, so many of them are used to warmth, and they are growing hungrier by the day. The Dothraki are better accustomed to scarce times in the desert, but they have the most difficulty staying warm. I’m afraid the conditions are affecting morale. The Unsullied will never defect, but the Dothraki are not used to having a queen, least of all one who brings them to a strange, inhospitable land. I’m worried about the restlessness among them. If there is any more food to be had my lady, or better accommodations, or perhaps more furs, I’m sure the Queen would be very grateful.”

 

With every word he spoke, Sansa felt a sense of panic grow and overtake her chest. It weighed on her and stifled her breath as she thought of the growing needs of their combined armies. She didn’t have any more to give, her own people were on the brink of abandoning her and now Queen Daenerys wanted more? She felt so small and useless, she had carved out a place of power and influence so painstakingly and now it was slipping through her fingers. All she could think of was Lord Baelish telling her to fight every battle, but there was a new battle every day.

 

Suddenly, unbidden and to her great horror, Sansa felt tears welling in her eyes and a great sob rose from her throat. She stifled the rising emotion and quickly dried her eyes but it was too late to hide that first sob. She had shown her cards, and now she would be negotiating from a position of weakness.

 

“Sansa…I, I’m sorry, have I said something wrong?”

 

Tyrion reached across the table to tentatively place his hand over hers, a look of concern and confusion on his face.

 

Sansa quickly snatched her hand away from him and rose from her chair, retreating to the edge of the room and forcing down the rising panic. She knew she was botching the whole conversation. She had humiliated herself in front of the Queen’s hand and the whole castle would soon know how weak she was.

 

“Sansa, what is the matter, what did I say?”

 

“I must apologize Lord Tyrion, I lost my composure for a moment, you really must forgive me, it’s most undignified.”

 

She turned and quickly settled back into her seat behind the desk. She squared her shoulders and steeled her gaze, willing herself to look strong. She would wrap this up quickly and hope Tyrion kept his mouth shut about her embarrassing outburst.

 

“I am sorry, my lord, but there really are no more supplies to be had, I’m sure you must see the last months have not been so easy on the northerners either.”

 

“My lady, surely there must be some reserves, perhaps they are being held for an emergency. But please, I must impress upon you that this is an emergency, we are truly in dire straits.”

 

“Lord Tyrion, I am sorry for my own sake and yours that there is no secret cache of supplies. We are reaching the end of our stores and the snows are much too deep for supply wagons to travel. If you think I am unaware of the dire straits we are in, you must think me very foolish indeed.”

 

He looked at her, the disbelief on his face giving way to confusion

 

“You are saying that the cellars and storerooms are completely exhausted? My lady, I saw them myself when I visited years ago with King Robert. The catacombs below Winterfell are vast, and the Starks have always kept them well stocked for winter, how can there be nothing left?”

 

Sansa felt latent anger rising in her as she thought of just how diminished the stores of Winterfell had become.

 

“Yes, Lord Tyrion, Winterfell was always kept well supplied by my father, he took great care to ensure the survival of his people through winter and lean times. The _Starks_ have never failed in their duty of protection to the northern people. The _Boltons_ however, were not so dutiful in their tenure as Wardens of the North. We have all seen the damage done to the structures and furnishings of the castle; let me assure you the destruction extends through Winterfell’s storerooms as well. Any supplies my father laid by in the summer have been destroyed by the monsters _your_ father sent to rule over my people.”

 

Sansa’s words were seething with anger and resentment. She hadn’t meant to become so heated, but Tyrion had inadvertently touched upon a painful wound. The Bolton’s had nearly destroyed her family and their home, now she wondered if she would be the first Stark to fail in leading the northern people safely through winter.

 

Tyrion was momentarily stunned into silence, but quickly recovered himself and rose from his chair.

 

“Lady Sansa, I see we share the same problems, and that they are much more dire than I first imagined. I propose a joining of forces; if we work together we are far more likely to find a solution. If I return tomorrow morning, are you willing to meet with me again?”

 

She wasn’t sure what he thought they would accomplish, but she could hardly turn down Daenerys’ second in command if he wanted to meet with her.

 

“You are the Queen’s Hand, I am the Lady of Winterfell, I will meet with you whenever you like Lord Tyrion.”

 

With that, he inclined his head in a shallow bow and took his leave of her.


	8. Tyrion IV

Tyrion woke early to gather the ledger books and documents he meant to bring to his meeting with Sansa. He felt apprehensive, recalling their conversation the day before. He had heard Sansa called an ice queen, and up until yesterday, he thought the name fitting. He often saw her walking the halls of Winterfell with a severe expression on her face. Her movements and expressions were carefully controlled, and her emotions unreadable. When she held court in Jon’s stead, Tyrion found her manner stern and noted her words were brief and carefully chosen. But yesterday he had seen cracks emerge. He had some knowledge of how much Sansa Stark had suffered, and he could imagine how fiercely she must have fought to survive and rise again as the Lady of Winterfell. When he reflected on it, Sansa had outlasted some of the cruelest, most dangerous figures in Westeros. Her first lessons in survival came from his own family of course: Cersei, Tywin, and Joffrey. He had heard she landed with Petyr Baelish after fleeing King’s Landing. Of course Tyrion knew she had him executed in rather dramatic fashion, but in his life Baelish had become one of the cleverest, most ruthless game players in the seven kingdoms. He must have brokered Sansa’s marriage to the Bolton bastard. Roose Bolton had been a formidable man, but the stories Tyrion heard about his bastard were hair curling. He certainly couldn’t begrudge Sansa her icy demeanor; he understood that it was her armor against the world. But that knowledge was what made yesterday’s encounter with her so unsettling. Sansa had survived so much, all while maintaining her impenetrable façade, but yesterday’s conversation had visibly shaken her. Tyrion realized now how close to disaster they must be. For the past several weeks he had presumed the Starks must have a plan to survive the winter, it seemed reasonable to him at the time, but now he felt foolish for assuming. With these thoughts in his mind, and his books gathered together, he set off for Sansa’s room.

 

Reaching Sansa’s room, Tyrion found an unfamiliar guardsman outside her door. He had expected Lady Brienne, who seemed permanently attached to Sansa’s side, but he supposed the lady knight must have to leave her sometimes. The guard did not appear surprised by his arrival, nodding to him and opening the door to announce his presence.

 

“Lord Tyrion”

 

She stood and acknowledged him simply, gesturing towards the seat he had occupied yesterday.

 

“My lady, thank you for meeting with me again, I hope we will be able to help one another.”

 

Taking her seat, Sansa was wordless for a moment, leaving him to wonder what she was thinking. After a moment of contemplation, she finally spoke.

 

“I’d like to believe you might help me, but I’m afraid I know too well what kind of trouble we’re in. In all honesty, and I suppose there’s no point in trying to hide it now, the Northern alliance is on the brink of collapse over the issue of supplies.”

 

“Collapse? Surely not, Jon hasn’t mentioned anything like that to Daenerys, and the northerners are renowned for their loyalty to the Starks.”

 

“Indeed Lord Tyrion, they are loyal, but old alliances have been fractured in recent years. Lyanna Mormont is threatening to pull her people back to Bear Island, and the other lords and ladies hold her in considerable esteem. A Mormont departure may signal the end for us. As for Jon, I wouldn’t rely on him for information. He really hasn’t been himself since Bran told him about his parents, I think the only thing that holds his attention these days are the dragons.”

 

These were troubling words from her. He didn’t like to hear how precarious their alliances were, nor of Jon’s absence from leadership. He knew things had become strained become Jon and Daenerys since Bran’s revelation of his parentage. Although Jon had made no move to challenge Dany’s position as Queen, he could tell the prospect worried her. Tyrion wasn’t sure how much the other members of her council knew of the intimacy that had budded between Jon and the Queen while they traveled, but he worried about the extra layer of complication it added to their situation. Either way, he had noticed as well that Jon seemed withdrawn, in recent weeks. Tyrion hadn’t realized this behavior extended to Jon’s role in Winterfell as well.

 

“I see…these are difficult times indeed then. But we can’t admit defeat so quickly. My lady, it appears you have been trying to solve this puzzle by yourself. I have always found that a fresh set of eyes shed new light on a problem, let us take another crack at it together, there is nothing to lose and much to be gained.”

 

“Very well my lord, how do you suggest we proceed then?” Sansa replied with a note of weariness in her voice.

 

Tyrion was not fazed by her lack of enthusiasm, he loved a good puzzle, and he always worked best under pressure. Despite the high stakes, he was beginning to feel the familiar buzz of energy that came from tackling a seemingly impossible problem.

 

“To solve a puzzle, first we have to understand the pieces. I have brought along records from the Queen’s encampments, rosters and supplies and things of that nature. Do you have the same for the northerners? We’ll trade records and become acquainted with all the players and their positions, then we can begin to strategize.”

 

“Yes, I have records here, I suppose it can’t hurt to let you look at them.” She opened a chest behind her desk and began to pull out scrolls and ledgers. She hesitated for a moment though, “Just…don’t tell any of the northerners you’ve seen these. They wouldn’t like a Lannister digging through these papers, that might send them packing with or without a food shortage.”

 

He thought he saw the corners of her mouth turn up slightly at her last remark, a grimace or a grin he wondered?

 

“My lips are sealed Lady Stark, they won’t hear anything from me, now lets get straight to it.”

 

After hours spent poring over the papers again and again, Tyrion was disappointed to find that Sansa had not exaggerated the shortness of their supplies at all. He could see the exhaustion in Sansa’s face as well, as she was confronted with their dilemma once again.

 

“Well my lady, I’m sorry to say no easy solution has appeared from reading these documents, but that shouldn’t deter us. Even if there are no more supplies to be had, perhaps we can find a more efficient way to use what we do have. Now, lets start by taking a look at…”

 

“Lord Tyrion,” she cut in abruptly, and he paused and looked up from the scrolls he was spreading across the desk.

 

“You said you wanted to understand the puzzle, you wanted to see all the pieces and players laid out, correct?”

 

She paused and looked at him, sharpness in her gaze, he knew the look of mental wheels turning and looked at her expectantly, “I believe that is how I put it.”

 

“Our puzzle is missing a piece. You brought the Unsullied and the Dothraki, and I have the Northern houses, and even some Houses of the Vale, but we’ve forgotten someone.”

 

“And who would that be?”

 

“The Wildlings, Lord Tyrion. There’s a whole camp of them outside the walls of the keep. But I don’t have anything here pertaining to them, they came here for Jon and I never deal with them directly.”

 

“Well we can’t have missing pieces if we want to solve our puzzle, should we seek out Jon to enquire after their situation?”

 

Sansa looked thoughtful, but then shook her head, “No, it would take too long to track him down. We should send for Maester Wolkan, he helps with disbursing supplies and record keeping, he’ll know what amounts the Wildlings have drawn from the storerooms.”

 

Tyrion had seen the new Maester but never spoken to him. He was unsettled by the idea of anyone who had served the Boltons remaining at Winterfell.

 

“Is it wise to involve him, do you find it difficult to trust a Maester who served the enemies of your house?”

 

“Don’t worry my lord, I am careful with my trust. But Wolkan is harmless enough; the Boltons are gone and he ought to be neutral as a Maester anyway. Even if I doubted him, he has no cause to lie about how much the Wildlings are eating, I think we’re quite safe to speak with him.”

 

Tyrion sensed a note of lighthearted mocking in her voice; maybe he was being overcautious, he supposed Sansa knew the members of her household well enough, “Well then let’s have him up here and get to the bottom of this.”


	9. Sansa V

Sansa rose from her desk and stepped outside the room, instructing her guard to fetch Maester Wolkan from his study. While they waited for his return, she and Tyrion sat in silence. She felt a strange lightness, a sensation that was almost foreign to her. There was no reason to feel so at ease just now, her problems were as pressing as ever. She supposed it _did_ feel rather nice to let someone in on the details of her most pressing problem though. They probably wouldn’t find any brilliant solution; even Tyrion wasn’t clever enough to pull food out of thin air and snow banks. Still, she was relieved not to carry the burden alone; at the very least she might have someone to commiserate with. With that thought, a single knock sounded at the door, and it was opened to allow the Maester to enter.

 

“Lady Stark, I am told you require my services?”

 

“Maester Wolkan. Yes, come over here, Lord Tyrion and I are in need of your knowledge of the castle storerooms.”

 

“The storerooms, my lady? I trust you know they are dwindling?”

 

“I am well aware of that fact Wolkan. Lord Tyrion and I have spent the morning comparing records of the different encampments. Look here, you can see we’ve begun to organize things, but I discovered something missing amongst my papers. I have records for all the Northern alliance, except the Wildlings. There’s absolutely nothing pertaining to their use of supplies from the castle. The papers must have been misplaced, do you have copies of your own Maester?”

 

A look of confusion passed across his face, “No my lady, nothing is misplaced. There are no records at all.”

 

At this Sansa cut in indignantly, “No records? How have we been so lax? If we do not take a proper accounting of our…”

 

Maester Wolkan interjected quickly “No my lady, please allow me to explain, there was never any need of record keeping, not for the Wildlings at least. They have refused any offer of supplies from Winterfell. Something about not needing “Southern charity.” I think it’s damned foolish, but they are a strange folk after all. We took them at their word and left the camp alone after that. So, you see, no need for record keeping Lady Stark.”

 

Tyrion had held his tongue up to this point, but he couldn’t remain silent any longer, “Maester are you telling us the Wildling camp has been surviving for months with no assistance from the castle? How is that possible?”

 

“Well, my lord, I really couldn’t say. Wildling affairs are none of my business, they’re Lord Snow’s people really. And they keep to themselves don’t they? How is anyone to know what they get up to in their camp?”

 

A silence fell as Sansa and Tyrion let the maester’s words sink in.

 

“My lady, is there anything else I can be of assistance with? I was tending to the ravens when your man summoned me…” he trailed off and looked at Sansa expectantly.

 

“Yes Maester Wolkan, you may return to your work, you’ve been most helpful.”

 

The maester made his exit, leaving Sansa and Tyrion alone again to contemplate his words. Sansa was intrigued, had the Wildlings transported so many supplies when they fled their villages beyond the wall? Tyrion was right, they had to understand all the pieces of this puzzle. She’d tie up this loose end with the Wildlings and then she could really begin to tackle the problems ahead of her.

 

“We have to speak to the Wildlings, it’s our only next move, should we have some brought up here?” Tyrion began rising to summon the guardsman again.

 

“No, not yet.”

 

“My lady?”

 

“I mean we shouldn’t summon them, I don’t think they’ll enjoy being at the beck and call of southerners. This time we have to find Jon, he’ll go with us to speak to them.”

 

“Of course. Shall we search out some dragons then?”

 

“Yes, let’s find some dragons”

 

*********************************************************

 

Stepping out into the winter air, Sansa felt a familiar rush of exhilaration. She loved its clean, crisp bite on her face. She realized how long she had been hiding away inside, trying to avoid the castle’s other occupants. It was foolish of her to sequester herself, but the demands of her allies had become overwhelming in the past weeks, she had taken to avoiding them just to relieve the pressure on herself. But this felt good, stepping outdoors, and having a _purpose_. She worked hard to dampen her expectations, but she couldn’t help thinking that she might actually learn something new today, instead of just fending off demands she couldn’t meet.

 

She walked with Tyrion along the battlements of the castle, using the vantage point to scan the sky. Soon, they spotted a dark speck, it must be a dragon, and perhaps Jon or the Queen was riding it. The speck grew larger, and closer, until wings, body and tail began to take shape. She knew Jon often went out early in the morning, but the afternoon was growing late so she guessed he would be heading back to Winterfell now. She was proven correct as the beast flew closer, landing in the snowy fields some distance away. A rider dismounted and she was sure she recognized Jon’s shape.

 

“It’s him, Lord Tyrion, lets go meet him at the gates”

 

They made their way to the ground and managed to intercept Jon at the castle’s inner gates.

 

“Sansa! I haven’t seen you for days, where have you been hiding?” Jon said playfully, Sansa was glad to see his spirits seemed considerably lifted.

 

“You know I haven’t been hiding from _you_ Jon, maybe from Lady Mormont though,” She countered back with a wry grin.

 

“Ah the little battleax, I don’t blame you Sansa”

 

Sansa smiled, then brought a tone of seriousness to voice “Jon, will you speak with me for a moment? We need your help.” Sansa glanced behind her to Tyrion to indicate his presence.

 

Jon looked a little surprised to see the two of them together, but quickly acquiesced. “Walk with me. I’m absolutely famished, let’s head to the kitchens and see what’s left from lunch.”

 

They walked in silence, Sansa not wanting to discuss their problems in earshot of too many people. It wouldn’t do any good to spread panic among her people. They reached the kitchen and Jon procured a bowl of stew, seating himself at a rough table in a corner of the kitchen, where Tyrion and Sansa joined him.

 

“So, what’s on your mind Sansa?”

 

“Food actually, Jon. Supplies generally I suppose. You know how short we’re running.”

 

“I’ve heard the pantries are a little bare, yes. Nothing we can’t weather though, northerners are tough people.”

 

“Jon, it’s much worse than that. We might only make it another month or two before serious shortages arise. I’m worried about how we’ll feed our people. So is Lord Tyrion, that’s why he came to me. Food supplies are running dangerously low, you know how the Bolton’s ransacked the castle, it’s left us exposed to starvation this winter. And on top of that, the Queen’s southern armies are struggling with our northern climate. We’re concerned about how our combined armies will survive if we’re here for much longer.”

 

Jon looked a bit taken aback by her words. “Well no one’s mentioned any of this to me. Are you sure it’s so bad?”

 

Tyrion spoke up now “Yes my lord, it is every bit as serious as your sister says. We’ve both been worried for weeks, but we spent the morning together comparing notes, and I can confirm that we are facing a serious threat in the coming months.”

 

Jon’s brow furrowed with concern, “we have to stay here at Winterfell, the white walkers could come any day, and there must be an army in the North to face them. We’ll need to feed and outfit our soldiers, there must be a way to stretch the food, or maybe to bring fresh supplies in by ship?”

 

“No Jon, the snows have gotten deeper since you arrived with Daenerys and Lord Tyrion. We can’t count on anyone going in or out of the North. But, we haven’t come here just to complain. Lord Tyrion and I made an interesting discovery this morning. You see, every noble house and army that has taken up residence around Winterfell is drawing on the castle storerooms. Careful records have been kept, and they paint a dire picture. But we realized this morning that no records exist for the Wildling encampment.”

 

Jon looked intrigued now, “And what does that mean?”

 

“Well,” Sansa paused, “We don’t exactly know what it means, but Maester Wolkan assures me it’s not a bookkeeping error, the Wildlings actually haven’t been surviving on Winterfell’s supplies.”

 

“That doesn’t make any sense though, I know they’re not fond of southerners like us, but they have to eat somehow.”

 

“Yes, they do. We’re not sure how they’re doing it, but that’s why we need your help. Jon, will you take us to talk with their leaders, I know they respect you. If you go with us I think we might actually learn something from them.”

 

“If you think it will help, I’ll happily take you now Sansa. Is Lord Tyrion coming?”

 

“Of course he is, aren’t you my lord?” Sansa looked to Tyrion for confirmation.

 

“Oh yes, I can’t leave a puzzle halfway unsolved.”

 

*********************************************************

 

Together, the three of them arrived in the Wildling encampment, where Jon led them to an unassuming tent with a man clad in heavy furs sitting in front of the entrance. Jon approached the man, speaking to him in a low tone so that Sansa couldn’t make out his words, he only gestured at herself and Tyrion occasionally. Finally, the man nodded and drew back the tent flap. Jon turned to Sansa and Tyrion, “We have been granted an audience with Val, she is the good-sister of the late King-beyond-the-wall Mance Rayder.”

 

Sansa had to bend to step through the tent’s entrance, but once inside, she was impressed to find the dwelling warm and relatively spacious. A man could stand up straight in the center, although the Lady Val was seated nearer the edge on a pile of furs, where the ceiling of the structure drew closer to the ground. Jon spoke first, introducing her as his sister and the Lady of Winterfell, and Tyrion as Hand to Queen Daenerys. Both Sansa and Tyrion bowed low, conscious of meeting a Wildling princess. But Val quickly began laughing at them, “Have you brought me more kneelers Lord Crow? Tell your friends to stand and tell me why they are here.”

 

Sansa looked and saw Jon had remained standing, she remembered then that the Wildling people were different, not so concerned with titles as the people of the Seven Kingdoms. She stood tall, and said in a clear voice, “Lady Val, we came here to discuss the matter of food and supplies…”

 

Val cut her off, “Supplies? What is there to talk about? We turned your Maester away months ago; my people don’t need southerners to tell them how to survive in the snow. And there’s no need for this “my lady” business, my name is Val, and that is what you will call me.” Val reclined back, looking at Sansa critically.

 

“Val,” the name felt uncomfortable in her mouth. After years of careful courtesy it felt unnatural to dispense with titles. “Val, let me be more clear. I see from the camp that your people are thriving; they are warm and well fed. My Maester and our records tell the same story you do, the Wildlings have not taken outside help. But my people, and Lord Tyrion’s, do not fare so well. We have come in hopes of learning from you.”

 

“I see. The southerners come with questions. They want to understand us. Do you not think us too wild, too uncivilized, to merit imitation?”

 

Val was testing her, and Sansa knew she could not slip through this situation with courtly manners alone, she decided to simply be candid with the woman. “Perhaps such disdain was the way of our fathers, Val, but we are living in different times. There is a greater threat than any of our people have ever faced, and we must all be strong enough to face it together. If the Wildlings have a way to survive, then none of us shall disdain it.”

 

There was a pause, Val seemed to mull over her words, and Jon and Tyrion both stood silently by her side. Then, the Wildling woman spoke, “you are right Sansa, we will all need strength if we have a hope of survival. If you are truly eager to learn our ways, I can make introductions for you around the camp. The freefolk live their own lives, and they all have their own ways of survival, but perhaps some will share their wisdom with you and your people. I am not their queen or their lady, but they respect me, and my introduction will help ease your way.”

 

For the rest of the day, Val lead them throughout the sprawling Wildling camp, stopping at many dwellings to speak with the inhabitants. Together, Jon, Sansa, and Tyrion began to learn the ways of Wildling survival. They learned that deep beneath the snow were starchy roots and tubers that could be chipped away from the frozen ground. Although hunting boars and stags was out of the question in the deep snows, the Wildlings knew how to make clever traps that could capture smaller creatures as the darted across the snowy landscape. It made for simple food, but it was nourishing and it had kept people alive beyond the wall for many winters. Even the snow itself was valuable. It could be shaped into surprisingly sturdy dwellings, so that skins and furs could be saved for making warm clothing. This way of living was harsh and difficult, but Sansa began to see how her people might be able to stretch their supplies and survive just a little while longer if they were willing to learn from Val’s people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been following along with me! I've never really done any writing before so this is very much just for fun, hope some of you are getting some enjoyment out of it as well!


	10. Tyrion V

Weeks had passed since their first tour of the Wildling camp. Though it had taken some persuasion, with the encouragement of Jon and Sansa the Northerners were slowly learning the Wildling ways. The Queen’s people needed little encouragement. The Dothraki were more than eager to learn any new ways to keep warm and fed, and the Unsullied were as loyal as ever in following their Queen’s orders. All in all, things were beginning to look decidedly more hopeful at Winterfell. It was still a daily battle to keep up with the work of digging and trapping for food, but they had discovered that the hotsprings under the castle kept some of the surrounding grounds quite warm, and the soil surprisingly soft even in the cold winter. The foraged roots and small animals made for a dull, but nutritious stew, and they were all grateful enough for food that there were few complaints about the monotony of it. As far as Tyrion could tell, the new source of food and renewed energy in the people was keeping Lady Lyanna and the northern lords satisfied, and threats to decamp from Winterfell no longer loomed large.

 

Together, he and Sansa had realized the strategic advantage of working together, and keeping their various allied factions united in purpose and understanding. They met more regularly now that they had come to this mutual understanding, and Tyrion certainly felt the benefit of having the Lady of Winterfell as a partner. The Northerners didn’t look at him with such suspicion when he had Lady Stark at his side, and Sansa was more knowledgeable of the castle and Northern politics than him.

 

Working together nearly every day had led them to settle into a friendly relationship. Sansa was always guarded, but he thought she seemed somewhat more relaxed than normal when the two of them met to talk strategy. After everything she had been through, he was glad to see her taking so well to her new role.

 

Today they were preparing a joint briefing for Jon and Daenerys on the condition of their army. They were seated next to one another, leaning over the table to reference various ledgers, and recording figures on the scroll that would become their finished report. Tyrion shifted from his position reading a tabulation of Dothraki weapons, moving across the table to add the information to their report. Without meaning to, his hand settled next to Sansa’s on the scroll, brushing up against her soft skin. She tensed slightly, but to his surprise, she stayed still for a moment, before shifting her hand away from his. The expression on her face was unreadable; he hoped she was not too offended by the brief contact. Although they had begun to act as partners in their work, he was always aware of her careful boundaries. Sansa Stark was not a trusting person. He thought of her as a friend, and he was not immune to her beauty, but he assumed she must still be suspicious of him on some level. She had not survived this long in their world by trusting easily.

 

Wanting to distract himself, as much as her, from further thought about the moment, he remarked, in what he hoped was a cavalier tone, “When this is all over and done with, I will refuse to even look at a report on armies and encampments ever again. And that’s if I don’t just go blind in the next week from all this reading.”

 

Sansa looked at him skeptically, but with a glint of good humor in her eye. “You’ll make quite the Lord of Casterly Rock, Tyrion, if you won’t even read a census about your people. And if you haven’t gone blind from staring at words on a page yet, I think you’ll be quite safe this week. You forget I know perfectly well you’re the most well-read man in Westeros.”

 

“Very flattering Sansa, although I think there are at least a few maesters in Oldtown whose knowledge of the written word could put mine to shame. Anyway, who says I’ll be Lord of Casterly Rock, I do have an older brother.” They were bantering now.

So she isn’t angry with me, he thought with relief.

 

“I’m sure the Queen would rather make one of her trusted advisors the most powerful man in the West, Tyrion, no offense to your brother.” Sansa was pretending to be stern, but she was playing along with his teasing.

 

“You have me there my lady” he replied jovially, “I will just have to resign myself to a lifetime of boring reports when this is all done. And what about you, what will you do when this war is over Sansa?” Their conversation had been bright and lighthearted, but Sansa paused now, seeming to contemplate his question.

 

“I’ll stay here, I suppose. Jon will let me live in Winterfell and help manage the northern nobles. I think I’ve become rather good at it, I’ll be a help to him, and I plan to be a devoted spinster aunt to all his children someday.”

 

Tyrion looked at her skeptically.

 

“Aren’t you a little young to be resigning yourself to spinsterhood? I’m sure you can have your pick of the young northern noblemen, or the noblemen of any of the seven kingdoms.”

 

At that, her expression darkened momentarily and her words took on an even more serious tone.

 

“No, I’m done with all that. Jon won’t sell me into another marriage. I’ll be safe here with him and Bran and Arya. Besides, you may be overestimating my appeal.”

 

She had quickly reverted back to a playful demeanor, but he knew he had touched a nerve. Perhaps he should drop the subject, but Tyrion never could mind his own business, so he pressed on.

 

“A beautiful young woman from a great house? What’s not appealing about that?”

 

“A compelling argument Tyrion, although I’m twenty now, and twice married. I’m no maiden, which could be overlooked, except I also failed to provide the Bolton bastard with any heirs.”

 

He looked at her curiously. “But surely that’s no source of disappointment, I can’t imagine you wished for children?” He realized their conversation was treading into rather serious territory now. He had never discussed Sansa’s second marriage with her. The Boltons in general were a subject they rarely discussed.

 

“It’s true, I was relieved, actually. I’m glad to have no trace of that monster left in this world. Still, I’m sure other noble families have reached the same conclusion I have. I was trapped with him here for months, with no child. I’m probably barren. I just have to hope that Jon provides me with many nieces and nephews to spoil.”

 

She was being rather glib about the whole thing, or at least she was trying to seem that way. But Tyrion was sorry to be reminded of her suffering in the years since he had last seen her. Even in the years he had seen her, he reminded himself. She had been suffering then too. Wars did not generally end with happiness for anyone, he knew, but he hoped there might be an exception for Sansa Stark. He thought she deserved a little bit of happiness after all her torment.


	11. Sansa VI

She and Tyrion had finished their work for the day, the report was written and he had taken it away to deliver to the Queen. Alone now, Sansa was left to reflect, and she found herself surprised by how open she had been in their conversation. Sansa hadn’t meant to be so candid with Tyrion, or with anyone for that matter. But when he’d asked her about her plans for the future, she had spoken honestly. It was true she didn’t intend to marry again; she wanted only to keep herself and her family safe and to restore her ancestral home. But that wasn’t something she spoke of openly, it was best for the other noble families to think she might forge an alliance with their house some day, it kept them close and eager to please. But really, what would she want with a bannerman’s son? She was already a daughter of the most powerful house in the North. She had no need for young knights with stars in their eyes, she knew how to play the game now, and they would only hold her back. These were thoughts she had fully intended to keep to herself though. It did her no good to let others know her private plans. She wondered where the impulse to be so honest had come from. All she could say was that Tyrion put her inexplicably at ease.

 

She had to admit, she had a growing appreciation for Tyrion. He treated her as an equal, sought and listened to her opinions, yet she could still look to him for advice and guidance. In the past, she had worried people would think her just a stupid girl again if she ever showed ignorance. But Tyrion never seemed to think less of her. To the contrary, he seemed unbothered when one or the other of them did not know something. He took such situations as a puzzle to be solved, not a sign of weakness. It was a rather charming habit of his, and made their afternoons together all the more enjoyable.

 

But, something still gnawed at the back of her mind. She was sure they spent too much time together, more than was strictly necessary to complete their work. Perhaps this growing affinity for the Queen’s hand was a mistake. It went against all her rules, all the painstakingly learned lessons of survival, to allow anyone so close. And she was beginning to let Tyrion alarmingly close. He was an ally, a partner in her management of the castle, and now she was beginning to confide in him. She looked forward to seeing him every afternoon, and found that he slipped into her thoughts throughout the day. But it was wrong; she kept trying to remind herself that this was wrong, even dangerous. It was too risky to let herself trust him. Sansa had spent years carefully sealing herself away behind her inner walls so that no one could hurt her anymore. She couldn’t undo all that careful work now, just because he was charming.

 

Her walls were what kept her safe. Not swords or armies. None of that could ever truly keep her safe. No one could. And that was why walls were necessary. Caution and control were all she could rely on. She had to keep reminding herself of that. Even if Tyrion was a friend, she had to be careful with him. He was slowly winning her over, but she had to stay alert to his motives. He was a clever man, with an unknown agenda. She couldn’t let herself trust him so easily. And yet it felt so easy to let down her guard with him.

 

She couldn’t make sense of all these conflicting thoughts; it was going to drive her mad. And she was completely ineffective as the lady of the castle with her mind at loose ends like this. She needed to speak to someone else, to sort things out. But it didn’t come easily for her, revealing her inner thoughts, she didn’t like to make herself so vulnerable.

 

She needed a change of scenery after working the whole afternoon in her room. She hoped a walk around the castle would clear her mind. Sansa wandered the hallways of Winterfell, making her way towards the central keep. Eventually, she found herself in front of the twin direwolf statues guarding the entrance to the crypts. They were headless still, marred by the Boltons during the castle’s occupation. It made her sad to see them broken; she had always thought them beautiful when she was younger. She ran her hands over the rough edge of the stone. The stonemasons had been focused on the more pressing matter of rebuilding damaged walls to ready the castle for war. It wasn’t practical to waste their time on something ornamental. She resolved to have them restored someday, if she lived to see peacetime.

 

Behind the direwolves, the stone stairwell descended under the earth. With a sudden sense of purpose, Sansa followed them downward, feeling the cool, musty air of the underground raise up to envelope her. Jon had come here often when he first returned with Daenerys; the crypts had seemed to draw him in. Maybe she could find some solace amongst their ancestors.

 

A torch lit the stairwell with a dim glow. She lifted it from its sconce on the wall, and carried it deeper, coming at last to the main chamber. Her father was here; he had taken his place with all the old kings of Winterfell. Her aunt Lyanna as well, Ned Stark had honored her with a place amongst the kings of the North. This was where she had found Jon before, and Sansa knelt on the earth floor in front of her aunt’s statue. She wondered if Jon had found any peace here.

 

A noise from the darkened edge of the chamber suddenly drew her attention. Fear gripped her; she was alone here, unarmed.

 

“Who’s there? Come out of the shadows.”

 

A small figure stepped out of the shadows. Arya. The fear loosened its hold on her, drawing back to its corner. Arya was always lurking about. It was unnerving.

 

“Arya, you frightened me, have you been following me?”

 

“Following you? No, I have better things to do sister. Only visiting the crypts, it’s a good place to be alone. I imagine that’s why you’re here?”

 

Sansa thought she saw a hint of amusement play across Arya’s face. Her sister enjoyed playing the mysterious figure, popping up where she was least expected. Arya came to stand next to her, gazing up at their aunt.

 

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I wanted a place to think.”

 

“And you have come to our aunt. The famous Lyanna.”

 

The two sisters were silent for some time, looking at the stone image of the woman. At last, Sansa broke the silence. “Do you think she knew what she had unleashed? When she ran away with Rhaegar I mean. She set us all on this path.” She looked up at her sister.

 

Arya looked thoughtful. She lowered herself to the ground, sitting with her legs crossed next to Sansa. “I don’t know Sansa. She must have realized it would anger the Baratheons. But she couldn’t have predicted it all, the way the kingdoms would burn. Maybe Rhaegar knew, Bran said he was obsessed with prophecy. We’ll never really know what she was thinking.”

 

“No. I guess we won’t.”

 

“Is that what you came here to think about Sansa? It’s all done now, we can’t change the past.”

 

“No, not really Arya. I’ve just been unsettled lately, I wanted some peace.”

 

“What is it that disturbs you Sansa?”

 

Sansa looked at her sister. How could she explain what troubled her. “It’s silly, it really doesn’t matter anyway. I should get back to my work.” She moved to rise, but Arya placed a hand on her arm.

 

“Sansa.” Arya looked at her piercingly, “don’t keep secrets from me, you promised, after Baelish.”

 

“It’s not a secret Arya. I know, we promised. It’s nothing to do with you.”

 

“If something is troubling you Sansa, I need to know. Has someone threatened you? If Lady Mormont is giving you trouble again I’ll speak to her. You need the bannermen to stay loyal.”

 

“No, nothing like that. They’ve all been suitably pacified. I’m alright, really.”

 

Arya said nothing. Still, Sansa could sense she wasn’t satisfied. She looked at Sansa with skepticism, holding her in a steady gaze.

 

Sansa looked away. Arya had a way of making her feel she could see to the depths of her very soul. Her sister wasn’t going to let her leave without an explanation.

 

“If you really want to know, it’s about Lord Tyrion.”

 

“Tyrion? You’ve been spending a lot of time with him. What has he done?”

 

“Nothing. It’s not anything he’s done. But it’s just what you said, I’ve been spending a lot of time with him.”

 

“And this concerns you.”

 

“Yes, it does. Maybe I’ve been spending too much time with him. He’s getting too close to Winterfell’s affairs. I’ve let him too close, but he’s not one of us, not of the North I mean. It might be dangerous.”

 

“What danger do you think Tyrion might pose to Winterfell Sansa? Jon has already pledged the North to the Queen. Are you afraid he’s going to raid the kitchen pantries and steal the rations?”

 

Good, her sister was making jokes; she could shrug this off as nothing serious. “Exactly. He’s no danger to Winterfell. I told you I was just being silly. It’s nothing to worry about.”

 

Arya was quiet for a moment, measuring her words. “Sansa, is it Winterfell’s affairs he is too close to, or is it yours?”

 

Gods. Arya had seen right through her.

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“You’ve spent a lot of time together, that’s all. You seem rather friendly with him, at least by your standards. It’s not like you to be so close to someone.”

 

“He’s helpful, that’s it. It makes sense to spend time together, he’s useful to me.”

 

“You’re awfully worked up over just _useful_. It’s alright if you want to have a friend Sansa. He seems harmless enough. You don’t have to keep yourself walled away from everyone.”

 

Sansa shook her head; this wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “It’s just supposed to be us Arya. Just you and me and Jon and Bran. The last of the Stark blood, we’re together again, we’re a family. You’re the ones I can trust, rely on, I shouldn’t be letting anyone else in.”

 

Arya sighed, looking down at the ground. “Sansa, you can’t live that way. None of us can. We have to let the world in.”

 

“After everything that’s happened, to all of us, how can you say that? It’s dangerous Arya.”

 

“Of course it’s dangerous Sansa. The world has terrible people in it. So we have to be careful. But you know that. You can tell the difference between good and evil Sansa, so trust yourself. I trust you.”

 

Sansa looked at her sister, how could Arya know exactly what she needed to hear? They had existed on separate planes as children, never once seeing eye to eye and constantly butting heads. Now it seemed Arya could nearly read her mind. Her sister had let go of her arm, but now Sansa grasped Arya’s hand tightly in her own.

 

“I missed you so much Arya. Through all those years apart. I know we used to fight but I missed you so much. I’m glad you’re home. I’m glad you decided to come back.”

 

Arya squeezed her hand in acknowledgment, “I’m glad too Sansa. And I’m glad to be Arya Stark again.”

 

They sat like that without speaking for several minutes, in the shadows of the crypt. Eventually, Arya made to leave, “I’ll let you be by yourself now Sansa, I know that’s what you were looking for. But you’re not alone sister, don’t forget that.”

 

With her sister gone, Sansa was left with her own thoughts again. The exchange had brought up all the emotion of her return home, and reunion with her family. It left her feeling raw and vulnerable. Her walls were coming down, she couldn’t deny it, and she wasn’t sure she could fight it much longer. Maybe Arya was right, she would have to let the world in, at least a little bit. She was thawing, and feeling her old self awaken, someone with hopes and dreams for the future. She wasn’t sure how she would manage this softer self, she still needed to be strong, to keep her mind on survival in the present. After all, there were real dangers out in the world. But she supposed, when she thought about it, that there were some very good things too. Her family, her home, and the lessons she had learned that made her strong and clever. And something else, she wasn’t even sure if she could call it a good thing. It was confusing more than anything else. Arya had been right, she was getting close to Tyrion. But what Arya hadn’t seen, and what Sansa had left unsaid, was that there was something more between them. It felt like…she struggled to find the words. Was it trust? Friendship? Maybe. Partially. But if she was honest with herself, there was something else there too. More than once she had found her thoughts drifting while he spoke to her, and he had to recall her from her daydream. Those thoughts came back to her sometimes when she was alone, and they made her blush. She had tried to ignore it, but she simple fact was that she didn’t just think of Tyrion as a friend, she found herself _desiring_ him. It was utterly baffling. She had never wanted him in that way before. In King’s Landing the thought of it had frightened her. And after Joffrey, and Petyr, and Ramsey, she was sure she would never want the touch of a man for the rest of her life. She was suspicious of men. She knew they only wanted to use her, yet she couldn’t get Tyrion out of her mind. It was so foolish, she told herself so over and over again. She couldn’t afford to take her mind off her responsibilities as the Lady of Winterfell. But the thoughts sprung, unbidden, to her mind when she was near him.

 

There it was. What she hadn’t wanted to admit to herself. She wanted Tyrion. There was something about him that was drawing her farther in each time they met. Sometime in the last month these feelings had begun to stir, and now she was forced to acknowledge them. It was bad timing, they had finally fallen into something comfortable, working together as equals. Now she had all these confusing feelings threatening to upset the balance.

 

Sansa stared up at her aunt’s face, carved into stone. The woman was silent, only a block of stone, after all. She needed guidance, but who could she really tell about this. It would be foolish for her to throw herself at a southerner now, of all times, when her influence in the North had only just been stabilized. The simmering tension between Jon and the Queen was already a concern to her bannermen. She couldn’t add to that instability.

 

_You are going to be the voice of reason, the one who can be relied upon to uphold the interests of Winterfell. You won’t be ruled by your emotions. Hold yourself together Sansa._

Voice of reason, reliable. That would be her mantra. If she couldn’t push these feelings down anymore, then she would keep her duty to Winterfell always in her mind. She was going to go back up those stairs, and attend to her duties for the rest of the day. And when she next saw Tyrion, she would be perfectly calm and dignified.


End file.
